Michelle Styles - An Ideal Husband?

Her blue eyes met his. ‘Then, no, if you must know, I did not contact the papers. And until today, I didn’t consider that I had an enemy. Sir Vincent must be more persistent than I thought. He has ignored your aunt’s pronouncement of total innocence. Why would he do such a thing, except that he knows the merest hint of your name will soil my reputation?’

The tension rushed out of Richard’s shoulders. Her assessment was the same as his. ‘Thank you. I believe you. Forgive me for doubting you, but I had to know.’

The fire went out of her eyes. ‘You are apologising.’

‘Sir Vincent and I have previous history. He is a formidable enemy.’

‘Indeed.’ She passed a hand over her eyes and sank down on to the pink-damask sofa. ‘I have made an enemy who intends to use underhanded means to win.’

‘He has succeeded before. I am determined to stop him. This time.’ Without bidding, the image of Mary’s face floated in front of his eyes. He would have done the decent thing and married Mary before he was sent down from Oxford, despite the pain it would have caused his father. If he’d done that, she’d never have been forced into that marriage, would have never run away and met her death in that canal accident. He forced his mind away. He had to concentrate on the now and saving Miss Ravel. He knew what she was up against. Miss Ravel was an innocent.

‘Putney means to ruin you, Miss Ravel. I’ve seen him do it to other women years ago and this time I will stop him.’

‘Ruin me? How?’ she said with a hiccupping laugh. ‘We have witnesses that you made an honourable proposal. Sir Vincent can’t harm me.’

‘There are several scandal-mongers lurking outside your house.’ He gave an apologetic smile. ‘When you have been notorious, you learn to know their type. I sent them on their way.’

‘They are watching the house? Still?’

‘It is entirely possible,’ Richard admitted.

Miss Ravel walked over to the drawing-room window and closed the shutters with a bang.

‘You should have told me about them before you started accusing me of informing the papers. My stepmother will be beside herself. My former guardian will have apoplexy. I would never have allowed you in if I’d known.’

‘I went to my club after I left the ball. I hadn’t seen the papers or I would have been here earlier…’

‘But they will know you were here.’ She put her hands to her head. Her face had gone pale. ‘Don’t you see? The scandal will be all the greater. The scandalous Lord B has called on the redoubtable Miss R … or possibly the not-so-fearsome Miss R…but wilful and headstrong.’

She clasped her hands together as if she was trying to keep them from trembling. Richard fought against the inclination to take her in his arms and hold her until the trembling stopped. She was right. His coming here had made matters worse, but he could not have just left her to face the coming storm alone. It was not in his nature.

‘It had to be done. Your post could be watched. The gutter press is called that for a reason.’

‘I shall have to quit society.’ Miss Ravel began to pace the room. ‘My stepmother will be displeased, but it will have to be done. She still harbours hopes of a glittering marriage for me. I’ll leave for Corbridge in the morning.’

‘The scandal hounds will follow you. Putney will ensure it. Running will only encourage them.’

She put a hand out to steady herself. ‘This is positively the last time I assist in anyone’s elopement. The consequences are far too grave.’

‘Listen to me, Miss Ravel, before you panic utterly.’

‘I never panic.’ she shouted. ‘This is my life you have ruined. All you have to do is leave this room. No one has any expectations of you.’

He raised an eyebrow and her cheeks infused with colour. He quickly calculated the odds and knew the risk was worth taking. He would have done everything possible and he could leave her with a clear conscience. He would also have fulfilled the vow that he made at Mary’s graveside. Putney would never use him to ruin another woman. ‘I have expectations of my behaviour. It is my expectations which are important here, not someone else’s.’

‘What do you suggest?’ she whispered, clasping her hands together so tightly the knuckles shone white.

‘It is nothing that either of us wanted, but I can see no other practical solution, one which allows us both some measure of honour.’ He went down on one knee. ‘Will you marry me, Sophie Ravel?’

Sophie stared at Lord Bingfield in astonishment. He had gone down on one knee with one hand clasped to his breast and was looking up at her with an intent expression.

Her mouth went dry. It was a proper proposal. He was truly proposing. Lord Bingfield, despite his scandalous reputation and his vowed intent never to marry, was doing the decent thing and properly proposing marriage. Her stepmother’s drawing room filled with its waxen fruit, china dogs and vases full of wax flowers had a distinct air of unreality.

‘You are silent for once, Miss Ravel. Have you been struck dumb?’

Her shoulders relaxed slightly. She refused to believe in fairy tales or instant love. He was doing this for his own purposes and not to save her.

She had learnt her lesson the hard way years ago. Some day she would find a man whom she could love and whom she wanted to share the remainder of her life with, but until then she kept her head. Bingfield expected her to refuse. Of course he did. Then he could say that he’d done the decent thing, but alas, the lady had been unwilling. She gave a small smile. She understood the game now. She fought against the temptation to whisper ‘yes’, simply because he must expect a ‘no’.

‘Am I supposed to give this serious consideration?’ she asked, tilting her head to one side and allowing her lashes to sweep down. ‘Or am I supposed to refuse outright, send you on your way with a clear conscience that you have behaved with propriety? It might solve your problem with your code of honour, but it will not solve mine.’

His eyes hardened to stones. ‘That is not for me to say. I merely asked the question in the proper manner. It is for you to answer when you have considered it. Simply know I will not ask the question twice. Being coy will get you nowhere.’

‘You do not know me well enough to feel any finer feelings.’

‘I never pretended any finer feelings, Miss Ravel. I asked you to marry me. You would hardly want me to be dishonest. The proposal suits my purposes for the moment. I will abide by your answer.’

The words served to puncture her entirely. Sophie frowned at the unexpected disappointment. It shouldn’t matter what Lord Bingfield thought of her, but it did. A tiny piece of her had hoped that somehow she’d been wrong and he’d fallen instantly in love with her. She had thought that the romantic part of her had died in that inn on the road to Scotland along with the rest of her girlish dreams, but apparently it hadn’t.

‘Is this some sort of a joke, Lord Bingfield?’

He slowly rose to his full height. Sophie was aware of the power in his shoulders and the way they narrowed down to his slim hips. Her body remembered how close they had stood last night. Her cheeks grew hot. He might not have any finer feelings for her, but she knew she wanted him to kiss her and that was not going to happen.

‘I would hardly go down on one knee unless I was serious.’ His lips turned down and his eyes became shadowed. ‘In light of today’s papers, do you think Putney will stop?’

‘He needs to be exposed.’

‘Others have tried and failed. I refuse to be used as an instrument of your ruin by the likes of him. Equally I refuse to be labelled a cad and have it whispered that I ruin eligible women for sport. Years ago, I made a vow that I would not be used by him to ruin any woman.’ He gave her a resolute look. ‘Marriage is the right and proper thing to do in these circumstances. If I had not asked, it would have weighed on my conscience. It is now up to you to make a decision. I will abide by your choice.’